Another Bump in the Road
by HDorothy
Summary: Jack can't undo what he did to Alar, but he can face Carter's backlash. Missing scene from S4, 402 The Other Side.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Another Bump in the Road  
Spoiler: 402 - The Other Side  
Pairing: J/S  
Missing scene: Jack can't undo what he did, but he can face Carter's backlash.  
Author's note: I wrote this because I wondered what went down between Jack and Sam after Alar hit the Stargate iris. This is just a hint and Daniel's two cents worth never hurts.

Reader comments always appreciated!

CHAPTER ONE

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Jack's Irish grandfather once told him, "Jonathan me boy, the Yellow Brick Road o' life has its share o' hills and dales, it does. But mind you, those wee bumps. . . Aye, those'll land you hard on yer ass every bloody time!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Smoke and dust saturated the air. The Eurondan complex was caving in. Racing to the Stargate, Jack glanced back at the desperate man on his and Carter's heels.

"I wouldn't follow us if I were you." Jack warned Alar.

"No!" the alien screamed in desperation.

Daniel opened the gate and Jack ordered him and Teal'c, "Go!"

Jack and Carter returned fire to the Eurondans who were out for blood. A small sharp rock slammed into Jack's right knee. Shit!

Dodging falling debris Alar screamed, "Wait! Wait!" As rubble tumbled around them, Jack and Sam turned to look at the Eurondan leader. "I could teach you everything I know! Just let me come with you!" Alar pleaded.

Disgusted with the pathetic excuse for a human being Jack stared unemotionally.

"Please?" Alar begged him.

"Go now!" Jack glanced at his 2IC. Without hesitation, Sam obeyed.

Jack turned his back on Alar and followed Carter. On the other side, she turned and faced the open gate as Jack walked through. He looked at her and as his acid reflux kicked into overdrive he said calmly, "Close the iris."

"Do it!" General Hammond seconded Jack's command.

The metal iris sealed the wormhole. A sickening thud followed. Alar had not heeded Jack's warning. _Hello!_

"I take it, Colonel, you were unable to incur Eurondan technology?" General Hammond asked him.

Jack looked from Sam to Hammond. "That's correct, sir."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said the General with regret.

Jack looked at Sam who had lowered her gaze. "Don't be."

She raised her head sharply. Their eyes locked.

"We'll debrief in one hour," Hammond ordered.

Jack glanced Hammond's way. "Yes, sir," then returned his gaze to his 2IC. Carter stared accusingly. Ah, crap! She was the last person in this screwed up universe he wanted to disappoint. He met the angry disappointment on her flushed, dirt-marred complexion. Still, he stood confident in his decision. By closing the iris, he just slew an alien Hitler-want-to-be. Earth didn't need another radical racist!

Someday, when Carter filled Jack's boots she'd have to make similar life and death calls. Someday, she'd have to look her 2IC in the eye and not blink. Damn hard to do—the not-blinking-part. A clichéd message skidded across Jack's weary brain. This has been a test of your local CO training center. If this were an actual emergency you'd . . . .'

Unflinching, Carter put her slender back to him and stalked down the ramp. He felt the cold, emotional backlash of her rigid body language. Had she any concept what this call cost him and that it'd be stored with the other sealed compartments in his tortured soldier's soul? Right or wrong he would live with Alar's death sentence. Living with Carter, well that was another bump in their rocky relationship. Heck, outside of the SGC did they even have a relationship? Let's not dwell, shall we, Jack.' Either way, letting her walk off half-cocked wouldn't help.

They must talk. Sam needed to know he'd not taken Alar's life because he was a racist, but to save the man from spending his life on Earth rotting in prison for crimes against humanity. There was no way around the obvious. Someday he and Alar would answer to God. For now, Jack had to answer to the woman who'd stolen his heart.

"Major?" he asked softly.

"Sir?" She halted and glanced back.

"After the briefing, let's talk topside. Dinner . . . my treat," he offered and revealed his battered heart through a nervous smile.

Carter's stiffened shoulders relaxed. "Is that an order, Colonel?"

"Nope. Just a request from one officer to another, one friend to another, yada, yada, etc," he directed traffic with his free arm while leaning on his P-90.

"Fine. But it won't be pretty, Colonel," she warned with a glint in her gray-blue eyes.

"The truth rarely is, Carter. But I'll handle whatever you throw me."

"Yeah sure yabetcha," she replied flatly, turned on her boot heels and marched off to the locker room.

More than aware of Hammond's observant stance Jack limped down the metal ramp feeling the weigh of the galaxy on his shoulders. As he handed off his P-90 and C-4 to an airwoman, he said under his breath, "Well, that went well, O'Neill." No doubt his and Sam's conversation would turn into a knock-down drag-out battle of wits and wills. Not minimizing what he'd done to Alar, Jack knew that he'd rather face Carter's righteous wrath than to ever live a day without her.

"Colonel O'Neill," Hammond spoke from the control room booth.

"Sir?" Jack halted and looked up at the firm lipped man. Did Hammond's bald head resemble a plump, ripe tomato? Yep. Dang he hated when that happened.

"Jack, before the team briefing I want to discuss what I think just happened." He pointed at the Stargate's iris.

_Of course you do. _"When, sir?" Jack drew a weary breath and met his commander's unsmiling features.

"A.S.A.P." Hammond walked away.

"Just peachy," Jack snorted. "Another ass-reaming." He knew Hammond probably wouldn't disagree with Jack's action, but as Jack's CO the matter had to be discussed.

Rounding the corridor, he came face-to-face with Daniel, who so wasn't smiling. "Daniel?" Jack lifted a limp hand at the linguist blocking his path, more than aware of what was up.

"Jack, please tell me what just happened didn't happen? And if so, what the hell were you thinking?"

"Aack!" Jack answered succinctly. "Yes, Daniel, it happened."

The linguist's lips parted with condemnation.

"Na . . . ah!" Jack flagged his left pinky finger. "You've gotta take a number . . ." He patted his pockets, then yanked Daniel's right hand, palm up.

"Hey!" Daniel gawked as Jack pulled out a pen and scribbled the numeral 3 on Daniel's palm.

"What's this mean?" Daniel glanced over the rim of his soiled glasses as Jack headed for the stairs that lead to the briefing room and Hammond's office.

"That you're not the only one who wants to bust my balls, Jackson. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to answer to the _man_ and then God help me—the _woman_."

Open-mouthed, Daniel Jackson watched the colonel's limping departure as he took the staircase and disappeared from view. True, Jack had been a jackass this mission. So what was new? Jack had also apologized to Daniel. Admitting when he was wrong and asking forgiveness wasn't Jack's strongest trait. And yet, Daniel trusted no one else to lead him or SG-1 anywhere in this universe.

His thoughts on his best friend Daniel ambled toward the elevator. Minutes ago, he had witnessed the unspoken friction between Sam and Jack. Daniel's gut instinct was that the thud against the Stargate had been Alar. Jack confirmed it so. Right or wrong, he respected Jack and his military rank. Knowing Jack would talk with Sam gave Daniel a sense of vindication. She may be a soldier, but Sam and Daniel thought much alike humanitarian wise. Her personal response to Jack wouldn't be pretty. Then again, Daniel was no fool as to how they felt about each other. Jack would find pleasure in Sam yanking out his toes nails.

Stepping into the elevator, Daniel glanced at the number 3 on his palm, then spit and rubbed it clean against his BDU's.

A smile split his face.

After all, that's what friends were for.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Another Bump in the Road  
Spoiler: 402 - The Other Side  
Pairing: J/S  
Chapter Two – Groveling with the '_man_.'

Beta thanks to faithful SG-1 fan and good friend Carol Sue!

Feedback is greatly appreciated!

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Jack cleared the stairs into the briefing room. Angry voices elevated from Hammond's office. A chill shot up through Jack, downward and then sideways. Not fear, but Irish exasperation. _Kinsey! Ah, crap!_

The door opened to reveal Teal'c's undeniable broad shoulders. Still in dusty fatigues he looked intimidating. Then again, Teal'c always looked intimidating.

"Good day General Hammond, Senator Kinsey." Teal'c exited and shut the door softly, then delivered a pursed-lipped glint at the oak door. If looks could kill. No doubt, he wished to fire his staff weapon at Kinsey's inflated head. One reason Hammond refused Teal'c's request to carry his staff weapon on base. No one knew when the royal politician in the ass would make his grand entrance. Surprise! Surprise!

Jack watched the Jaffa draw an audible breathe, straighten his muscular bulk to an impressive height and turn to exit through the briefing room. "O'Neill, I did not see you."

"Hey, big guy." Jack tipped his silver head toward the _man's_ door. "So when did Senator Bigmouth blow in?"

"That I do not know. However, he is his usual self-absorbed, patronizing self. He is most displeased that we did not return with Eurondan technology. Furthermore, he wished to meet with Alar."

"Wish I could arrange that," Jack muttered, glancing at his concrete dusted boots.

"Indeed." Teal'c's black brows shifted against his bronze skin as he took his usual stance, hands clutched behind his back.

"Yeah, if wishes were horses, T." Jack rubbed his sore knee.

"Excuse me?" Teal'c cocked his bald chocolate head.

"It's just a saying." He shrugged.

"Not an equestrian joke?" Teal'c's plump lips twitched.

"Funny." Jack's mouth lifted a notch but even that was an effort.

"Am I to understand that Alar is dead?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure that loud, bumpy thump was him, although we'll never know for sure."

"No, we shall not. I wish you to know Major Carter expressed her disappointment."

"Then she believes I killed him on purpose?" Jack's question shot out ad hoc, and he mentally kicked himself.

"She did not specify that particular raison d'être." Teal'c arched a black brow.

"Huh?" He gave a dense look.

"She gave no reason, O'Neill."

"Oh. Um . . . right. So what'd she say?" Jack felt his stomach pitch.

"I fear it is what she did not say that spoke volumes."

"Yeah, silence is golden, but sometimes it's yellow." Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt pressure at the base of his skull and hoped it wasn't a migraine.

"Indeed." Teal'c nodded. "However, I would not make assumptions until you speak with her. After all these years of serving together, she knows your heart well."

Jack felt heat streak his face. "Let's hope so, big fellow."

"Hear me, O'Neill. I would have made the same pronouncement to destroy their energy source if it had been my decision. Before Senator Kinsey interrupted, I told General Hammond what happened and that I agreed with how you managed the hostile circumstances in consideration that the Eurondans were racially prejudiced and started the war."

"Great! Maybe that'll shorten my one-on-one with General Hammond."

"And I reiterated my opinion to the senator," Teal'c said with pride.

"Then again. . ." Jack rubbed his aching temples.

"You did right." He put a hand on Jack's heavy burdened shoulders.

"Thanks, T." He meant it.

"It remains my honor to serve with you, O'Neill."

"Back at ya." Jack patted the other man's forearm.

Voices escalated from behind the oak door. The warriors exchanged glances. Jack winced. Oh, yeah, a migraine slithering out from the trenches. The migraine had a name. Kinsey.

Teal'c sniffed the air and then himself. "I believe I am exuding an odor of perspiration. I must bathe."

Jack crinkled his nose and grinned. "Um, well, I wasn't going to say anything."

As he passed Jack, Teal'c sniffed and scowled. "You would be wise to do the same, my friend."

"Naah. Really?" Jack lifted his right arm pit, inhaled and grimaced. Yuck! Maybe he should shower before meeting with Hammond, which would allow him to take a mental course of action—damage control. He took another sniff. Skunk came to mind.

The door opened. "Enter." George waved him in.

Crap. Meeting Kinsey's glare of disapproval, Jack lowered his arm and bashfully glanced into the inner sanctum.

"Well, well. . ." The senator scoffed at Jack's appearance.

"Deep subject for a petty mind like yours, Senator." Catching Hammond's exasperated look, Jack sputtered. "Whoops! Did I say that?" He sent George a rueful look and dismissed Kinsey's PO'd glare.

General Hammond crossed the office to the private entrance, opened it and addressed Kinsey who'd yet to budge. "Senator." George motioned with a tone of intolerance.

"I'm not finished, General!"

"I am," George said in his calm Texan drawl.

Jack decided that come hell or high water he'd keep his trap shut. He wasn't stupid. He knew Kinsey was out to crucify him—again.

"I insist on talking with this _nut_ you call your second in command." Robert Kinsey leered at Jack.

Then again, seeing as Kinsey insisted. "Nut, you say? Gee whiz, we have something in common after all." Jack tipped an imaginary hat. "I prefer Macadamia nuts, like the ones I nibbled on in your mansion's office a few years back."

Kinsey paled.

"Yeah." Jack smiled at Hammond then at Robert Kinsey. "A glorified, kiss-your-ass gift from the Hawaiian Macadamia Nut Corporation for dismissing the medical findings of those crop workers insecticide deaths three years back. And yet the four supervisors that also got sick received substantial compensation. Maybourne mentioned you now have a sweet beach house in Maui . . . Hey, isn't there some law about politicians taking bribes?"

"That was a senate investigation committee decision, O'Neill," Kinsey said with blow-hard confidence.

"That you headed." Jack lounged casually in the doorway. "So does the fact most of those crop workers were immigrants have anything to do with your discriminating decision?"

That got the man with the bottled suntan out of his chair. "Why you brown-nosing, gun-totting dog!" He turned on Jack, who showed no intimidation. He knew the senator was too smart to stay on the touchy subject.

He noted Hammond's amused look and decided to play out his hand as long as possible. "Speaking of dogs," he ambled forward. "How's Oscar? Pity that such a nice animal has you for its lord and master."

"Don't drag my pet into this fiasco, Colonel. You can't go blowing up peaceful technologically advanced civilizations because there are ethical differences! And don't get me started how you just cost our tax payers two point five million dollars under forty-eight hours."

"You mean we broke our previous record?" Jack donned his poker face.

"Colonel." Hammond warned with the shake of his balding red haired head.

The senator shot to his feet, turned and got into Jack's face. "Colonel O'Neill!" He shook a fisted hand. The man was so flustered Jack thought his plum-pickled face would explode. "Do you have any idea how much heavy water goes for now a days?"

"Not two-point five mil, huh? But I do know threads." He gestured at the senator's expensive dress suit. "For instance you're wearing a Brioni's wide-shouldered, slim-waist, charcoal gray cashmere suit. I'm sure your average Joe constituents would love to know that fancy outfit gets around six g's nowadays."

Kinsey balked.

Hammond coughed and grinned wider.

"And I'd have your tailor let out half an inch around the gut. . . " Jack wiggled his fingers at the senator's thickening waist. "Makes you look fat--eer."

"So help me, O'Neill!" The senator flagged his fist.

"Would if I could." Jack shoved his hands into his front pockets and rocked on his boot heels, smirking. Man, he wished Carter were here.

"Down, Colonel," ordered Hammond.

"Must I, sir?" he bellyached.

George glowered. "Jack," his CO pitch gave no leeway.

"Yes, sir." Jack obeyed with respect.

"Oh, hell, you just go ahead, Colonel. Make fun of the average Joe's hard earned income going down the proverbial creek because you decided to play God Almighty! Christ, you're a son-of-a-bitch!"

That did it! "General Hammond, sir, permission to punch out an elected official for mocking Almighty God, taking His name in vain, and insulting my mother?" Jack asked without taking his pissed-off gaze from the senator.

Although, he paled noticeably the senator taunted, "Oh, please do, Colonel. I'd like nothing better than to finally haul your incompetent ass before a congressional hearing of your peers."

"Where you will once again lie and deceive the multitudes with your self-righteous poppycock, Senator."

"Enough! Both of you!" George bellowed then glared at Kinsey. "I advise you to leave with dignity or I'll have my SF's escort you to the surface—again."

"This isn't over, General!" Kinsey ranted as he stalked out of the office.

"It never is," Hammond sighed, shut the private door and turned a disciplinary glint on his first officer.

"Sorry. I did it again, sir." Jack smacked the heel of his palm against his forehead.

"Yes. Yes, you did, Jack. Now please shut the door."

Jack sucked it up, closed the briefing room door, then stood at attention before the '_man_,' who took his place in his leather chair, folded his hands on the desk's immaculate surface and looked at Jack, sternly. At least the Texan's head had lost its eerie crimson glow.

"At ease, son." Hammond ordered as he exhaled through his mouth.

"I am, sir." Jack tried and failed. After nearly five years under the man's command, Jack sensed when their talk was to be business or friendly bullshit. This was business. "So how'd he find out?" Jack nodded toward the hallway door.

"Our request for substantial heavy water didn't go unnoticed." George rubbed his pale blue eyes with the back of his hands.

"Ah." Jack nodded. "Look, sir, I'm sorry if I further complicated the volatile matter with Kinsey, but he's such an ass!" Jack made a crude gesture with his hands.

"Yes, well, there's no love lost between me and that self-serving bastard, especially since you and Maybourne discovered he's connected to the NID and the abduction of my granddaughters." He sighed then admitted, "I envy you, Jack."

"Sir?" He winced with confusion.

"As commander of this base I must tailor my personal opinions and my tongue. While as my subordinate you can be downright rude, crude, in your face . . . even insolent."

"Why thank you, sir. Whenever ya want rude, crude, in your face . . . just call." Jack felt a smile tug at his mouth.

"Jack," George said wearily. "Also remember that I allowed you that latitude and it will no doubt come back to bite me."

"Yes, sir. Sorry again, sir."

"Now that's settled, how's your knee?" George's attention lowered to Jack's dusty BDU's and the material tear above his right knee.

"Same ol', same ol', just a minor scrape, sir." As field officer, he never complained, at least to the General about his deteriorating joints and muscles. One of those, don't talk about, don't know military rules. Now if he could avoid Doc Fraiser he'd slap a bandage on it at home and . . .

"Well, I want Doctor Fraiser to check you over."

Crap!

"Have a seat, son."

"Yes, General." Jack eased into the guest chair and straightened his aching knee.

"I'll make this brief." George leaned forward. "We just lost a magnitude of technology, not to mention millions of dollars worth of heavy water, Jack."

"We did." He confirmed. "And I sincerely regret the loss of technology and the heavy water."

"I'm not looking for apologizes, Jack. I want to know what in the hell went down those last few hours and why you didn't see it coming before hand?"

Weary, Jack shut his eyes then opened them. "You know me, sir. I'm not always right, and sometimes I'm slow on the uptake, but I am straightforward."

"Yes you are, Jack. Now answer the question."

He looked his commander in the eyes. "Alar's people, the Eurondans, started the war. They are—were fascist, bigoted racists. Lower than dirt. Everyone was blue-eyed, blond Caucasian, and they had thousands of themselves in deep freeze. Daniel tried to warn me, as did Teal'c and Carter. I didn't see it coming, sir, because I didn't want to. I wanted their technology more than anything, even the truth. I screwed up—" he stretched his hands, "big time, sir. And I will accept any reprimand you deem fit."

George frowned and leaning back in his leather chair, tented his fingers beneath his double chin. "For the record, Teal'c felt it imperative to inform me of what happened in Euronda before our briefing."

Jack clasped his antsy hands in his lap and looked up. "Yes, he told me, sir."

"Teal'c said SG-1 was under fire and fleeing toward the gate."

"Yes, sir."

"And that after you stepped through the gate you ordered it shut down. Trusting your decision, I seconded that order."

"Yes you did."

"Then someone hit the gate?"

"Yes, sir."

"It could have been anyone of the _enemy _soldiers chasing you?"

"I suppose."

"But you know or suspect differently."

Guilt washed over Jack. "Sir, how'd you guess?" His hands directed traffic.

"Before I was flying this desk, I was a field commander for over twenty years, Jack. Been there, done that, and probably far worse might I add. So who did you shut the gate on?"

Jack felt sweat bead his upper lip. "I've no proof, sir, but I suspect Alar. He wanted to come with us . . ." he winced and focused on the American flag that hung from a corner pole. "I warned him not to follow."

"Did he beg or barter?"

"Both." Jack's mouth dried as he recalled the scene. "He said he'd teach us everything he knew."

"And yet you told him no."

"Actually, I was so disgusted and angry I said nothing. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch."

"I see." George's voice softened.

"Do you, General?" Jack's voice cracked with unexpected emotion.

George's head snapped upward. "Yes, son, I do."

"I killed an unarmed man, General."

"Yes you did. You made a life and death decision. You played God."

"I'm so not God, sir." Jack toyed with his pen and winced.

"No, you're not, nor am I. And it's not my place to judge you as Him. But if it's any consolation, had our roles been reversed I'd have done the same."

"That helps, General. However, were I, God, well, I'd have struck one Jack O'Neill dead years ago."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, son. Personally, I believe God has great plans for you. I don't deny you can often be a thorn in my side, Jack, but you are an honorable man and I can't imagine having anyone else as my 2IC or leading my flagship team."

"Sir?" Jack felt relieved, but guilty.

"Jack, this isn't the first time you've made a hard call. You must learn to forgive yourself. As head of SG-1 your first priority is to the safety of your team. You brought your people back alive and that carries weight with me."

"Thank you, sir." Jack shut his eyes a moment.

"Good. Now you are dismissed until the briefing which I rescheduled for tomorrow at 0800 hours. I have informed the rest of SG-1."

"Oh. That's it?" Jack gawked, rising to his feet.

"Yes, although I highly recommend you hit the showers, son." George made a face.

"I'll do just that. And, sir?"

"Colonel?" George stood and arched his broad back, showing signs of fatigue.

"I appreciate all the patience and latitude you graciously continue to extend me."

"You're welcome, Jack." George gave his Texan smile. "And you don't have to brown-nose." He chuckled.

"Soo not brown-nosing." Jack backed toward the door. "Now if I were to hug and kiss your shiny hairless head, that'd be brown-nosing." He winked.

Smiling, Hammond was about to comment when his red phone rang. He glanced at the I.D., expelled a breath, and then lifted the receiver. "Yes, Mister President?" George rubbed his brow as the president said something that made him breathe with relief.

Curious, Jack halted. George's relaxed features tightened. "I admit Teal'c did talk to Senator Kinsey, but he did not threaten to skin the senator's penis and testicals. Oh, well, I admit the word castration was used, but not in that context." George looked over to find Jack smirking.

George scowled.

Jack coughed and feigned a serious expression.

George rolled his eyes.

"_Blah, blah, blah . . ." _from the red phone.

"Oh, yes, Colonel O'Neill was later present and _we_ did have a slight altercation with the senator—again."

"_Blah, blah blah."_

"Yes, sir, there was name calling. However, Kinsey started it. He called my first officer a nut, sir!"

"_Blah, blah, blah." _

"No, sir. Colonel O'Neill did not touch or harm the senator. Nor did he take God's name in vain. Although Kinsey. . ."

"_Blah, blah, blah . . ." _

"With all due respect, Mister President, you and I agree that Senator Kinsey is and always will be an asshole. Yes, sir, I'll do my best to never let him and the colonel alone in the same room or will I allow Teal'c anywhere near the senator with a sharp object . . . nor his staff weapon." George sank into his leather chair as he continued to get reamed by their commander in chief.

Time to exit. Jack slipped into the briefing room and shut the door. Hammond's talk helped a lot. However, he still wasn't in the clear with those who meant most to him, Daniel and above all, Sam. The idea of confronting a miffed Carter made him sweat. Times like these, he realized that her respect and trust had become the air he breathed. He'd rather lose his life than lose Sam's approval.

Looking up, he found Carter taking the stairs, her partially dry blond hair framing her face, an open notebook and pen in hand. Dressed in snug jeans and a fitted red sweater, she looked hot. Jack tugged his BDU shirt to conceal the rising evidence of his reaction. Seemingly unaware of his presence, Sam halted on the landing and jotted something down. Jack wished he could slip back into Hammond's office. Too late.

"Colonel." Sam glanced up from her notes. "You do know the briefing's been rescheduled?"

"Yeah, just heard." He gestured to George's office. "I'm on my way to the showers." _'Care to join me?'_ flitted through his mind.

"Oh." She glanced at Hammond's shut door. "I was just dropping off some notes I made while on the planet."

"More techno babble?"

"Something like that." She avoided his gaze.

"Ah." He nodded as they stood within inches of each other. She seemed calmer, relaxed even. No outward sign she hated his guts. Then again, Carter could act up a storm when necessary. Was it necessary? Doubt ran amuck. Falling in love with his 2IC had proved a pain in the asset.

Jack inhaled the sweet fresh essence of her and became starkly aware he smelled ripe. "Well, I'm off to the drycleaners."

"Okay." She smiled softly and for the first time since they'd stepped through the gate, he felt hopeful.

On the staircase Jack glanced back. "Major, I've got to report to the doc before I leave base. Is an hour enough time?"

"Time?" she glanced over her shoulder with a baffled look.

"Dinner? Topside?" Was he pleading?

"Oh, yes, sir."

"Sweet!" He delivered his best dimpled grin and limped down the staircase.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Samantha's smile faded as her sexy but smelly CO took the steps bad knee and all. So he thought he'd conned her into dinner? Wine and dine his judgmental Major, then ply her with excuses to justify his decision about Alar? Big honking mistake!

Sam knocked firmly on General Hammond's door and awaited permission to enter. Once given, she opened the door and stepped inside.

GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

"What can I do for you, Major?" George smiled from behind his desk.

"It's about Colonel O'Neill, sir, regarding the failed mission with the nation of Euronda."

"Not you too?" He expelled a breath and dragged a hand across his face.

"Me too, sir?" she asked surprised.

"Never mind, come in."

"Oh, wait!" Daniel chortled sticking his right arm through the closing door. "I'd like to discuss the matter as well, General, Sam, that's if neither of you mind?" Daniel eased into the office and shut the door.

George prayed for intervention. "Major Carter, any problem with Doctor Jackson being present?" He rocked back in his chair, feeling his age.

"No, sir. I think Daniel knows what I'm about to say."

"Well, I have a good idea." Daniel winced and removed his glasses. "Is it about Jack's handling of certain matters while at Euronda?"

"I'm afraid so, sir." She looked Carter serious at Hammond.

George felt a dozer of a headache coming on. "Why am I not surprised."

TBC

PS: Dear Readers: RL and a new novel deadline have blown me off course—again. I will try and complete this ASAP, but please be patient and nag me if you must. Please?


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Another Bump in the Road  
Author: HailDorothy  
Chapter 3: Schmoozing the '_woman—women_.'

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SGC Infirmary:

"Blah, blah, blah. . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jack waved a limp hand of surrender while he basically ignored the same old song that Doctor Janet Fraiser had been singing to him for years.

". . . . Furthermore, another injury to this knee, sir, and you'll be a candidate for partial knee replacement."

"Only if it comes with a rocking chair, fishing pole, unlimited cold beer and Social Security bennies." He offered a hopeful smile.

"I am serious, Colonel." She huffed and jotted something down in her notes. Probably that his humor was still pathetic.

"Me too and," he spotted two young nurses ogling his bare backside. "I feel a draft and too many eyes." Reaching around he closed the gap of the hospital gown, which caused the front of of the gown to creep higher up his thighs.

More ogling, followed by laughter. What was wrong with this generation? Spying or drooling over Daniel or Teal'c, he could understand. But for crying out loud, he was old enough to be their father. Jack hated the flimsy hospital gowns from Ne'tu and feeling like he was cheap entertainment.

"Look, can I get dressed now?" He crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at the pretty nurses, who gaped, then bolted out of the room.

Janet glanced down at his childish behavior and noted, "Well, at least your eye and tongue coordination haven't been affected."

"Huh?" He blinked.

Fraiser ignored him. "Sir, the condition of your knee could disqualify you from or future field duty."

"Ain't going to happen, Doc," Jack reassured the pretty redhead. "Besides, that rock just scraped off some hide." He made light of the serious matter. "Heck, it's not even bleeding." He pointed to the scratch.

Rolling her brown eyes and jamming her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat, rather than strangle him—he assumed, Janet Fraiser expelled an exasperated sigh that'd he heard a lot since their first encounter four years back. He knew this particular tone and expression was for him alone. He had to admit it made him feel special—sometimes. This wasn't one of them.

"It's not the 's_crape_' I'm worried about, Colonel. You've injured this knee so often, the arthritis has become disabling. A person doesn't limp because of a minor bump or scratch."

Jack sensed mutual head-banging in the works. And it wouldn't be the first time they'd discussed his degenerating joints. He hoped she didn't start on his lower back or foot problems. He'd be here until midnight if that happened.

"Long as I can walk and run I've no complaints, Doc." Jack scrubbed his hands, then motioned to hop off the examine table.

"Easy sir." She shoved him back and not too gently. "We're not done. All the stress you've put on this knee means the other one is compensating. I want to run a few tests on both knees. As you recall you managed to avoid the last three scheduled scans."

"Dear Janet," he got up close and personal which included dimples and brow wagging. "I'd love nothing better than to discuss," he made quote marks in the air, "_my disintegrating body parts_, but I've got plans tonight and I'm late."

"I don't care if you've got a date with the most beautiful blond in this galaxy, sir." She gave her all-knowing look.

I do, Jack mused, and Sam's best girlfriend knew more than necessary. Their saving grace was that like Daniel and Teal'c, Janet was a romantic. And as long as she didn't catch them in a compromising position, she wouldn't squeal. Heck, the last compromising position he had with Carter had been the time he'd found her wearing nothing more than a gold sheet at Hathor's fake SGC. He'd no idea Sam had that many freckles. His mind slithered into the gutter.

"Colonel, starting now, your ass is mine." Janet Fraiser's stern voice snapped him back to the present.

"Huh!" Jack gawked. Rarely, did the cute redhead swear. Okay, so he was the unlucky reason. "Now wait just a minute." He held up his right pointer for clarification. "I outrank you, Major."

"And when it comes to medical issues I have authority over you, Colonel."

"Really?" He donned a face of utter density.

"Don't play dumb with me, sir. You're not going anywhere until I'm satisfied, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. Can I at least use the phone?" He pouted O'Neill style, but Janet didn't budge.

"Is it a life or death matter?" She folded her arms over her firm ample breasts, which made him think about Carter's breasts. Was it getting hot in here?

"Could be a death—mine." He made a face.

"One call." She handed him the phone and then told the orderly to call radiology and setup the test. Janet Fraiser really was a calculating little totalitarian. Crap, he prayed Carter would understand.

"And oh, Doc?" Jack waggled his fingers Daniel fashion.

"What?" she asked suspiciously as she turned away.

"No needles, please?"

Despite her sweet bedside manner and noble rhetoric about never intentionally inflicting pain on her patients, Jack always suspected Janet Fraiser had a razor sharp wicked streak to her.

"Oh, stop being such a baby, sir." She glanced over her shoulder, crossed her amber brown eyes and stuck out her very long tongue.

Ah, crap, he was right.

TBC

(This frazzled writer is still aiming for a publisher's deadline. But please continue to nag?)


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Another Bump in the Road  
Author: HailDorothy aka HDorothy  
Chapter Four: Kissing up to the _woman_!  
Beta Thanks: Carol Sue, you do Jack and Sam proud!

Feedback: Pretty Pleeeeze?

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Dang there were needles! And did he mention the crappy dye they shot into his IV made him feel like he'd wet himself?

Things got worse. Sam didn't answer her lab, cell or home phone. At that point, Janet yanked the cordless from his greedy hands and walked off. It was over an hour, before Teal'c secretly summoned by Jack, was told to find Carter and relay his delay. Figured, that she had already left base.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam had finally cooled down. But by the time she got Teal'c's message on her home answering machine she'd thrown together a stale peanut butter sandwich, donned her pajamas and called it a night. She could have convinced Janet to cancel whatever tests she'd schedule for the colonel. Although, in Janet's defense, she didn't blame the CMO for taking advantage of having Colonel O'Neill under her thumb—however brief.

Besides, this wasn't the first so called 'business dinner,' he'd missed and wouldn't be the last. Their less than normal romance had seen its share of turbulent times but Sam did not doubt that Jack O'Neill loved her or would be forever faithful, even after the Edora incident.

Jack had promised Laira he'd return and finish the negotiations. However, when he'd seen and heard all that Sam had gone through to get him home, he never returned to the planet. Well, there was the exception while undercover to bring down Maybourne's illegal smuggling operation. That was another bad mission that had lasting affects on their wannabe-lovers relationship. Since then, whenever they returned from a mission, the team always checked their houses and vehicles for listening devices.

Anyhow, it'd taken Jack a good week to get his act together, apologize, and ask Sam's forgiveness. Considering they could not openly acknowledge how they felt for each other, she knew the expensive dinner and ballroom dancing he'd taken her to fifty miles out of the Springs, had been his way of conveying how much her forgiveness mattered.

However, it took months for Sam to get past his sleeping with Laira, something that never went in his report. Even though he confessed in O'Neill fashion that he'd given up hope, gotten hammered and made love to Laira, Jack vowed he'd never be with another woman, but Sam. Despite being hurt, she realized she'd no right to judge him or his behavior. How would she have reacted after being left behind for 90 days with an attractive person of the opposite sex breaking down her defenses? She chose not to consider it.

Since then, there'd been some platonic lunches and dinners, minus the hand holding or kissing. Kisses. Sam sighed. Besides, her alien influenced manhandling of the Colonel in the locker room that first year, she'd yet to taste his lips in a romantic sense. Well there was that Antarctic kiss. Someday, she ventured, they'd kiss without alien influence or almost dying.

Even if someone from base did catch them together on downtime, she and Jack remained above board. They volunteered to babysit Cassandra a lot but it didn't help that Cassandra was onto them and loved to tease the Colonel about laying a wet one on his 2IC.

With the NID breathing down their backs they stole most of their private moments off world, and even that behavior was within the regs. This seemed the only way they could have personal conversations without being bugged. Besides their normal flirtations; looks, touches, shoulder naps had become the boundaries they'd elected. To cross that fine line would mean never looking back and Sam knew the only reason they hadn't, was due to Jack's respect for her career. Lately though, hugs and chaste kisses weren't enough. Sam was pretty near the breaking point and sensed Jack was too.

Sam remembered when everything changed between them in the Antarctic. Feelings that had blossomed when they'd first met in the briefing room, had been stomped upon for months, but almost dying together changed everything.

_"Sir, if we don't make it, I won't have any regrets, you?"_

_"I regret dying. . . .and," he turned his handsome face toward hers. "Not having done this, Samantha." He cradled her face in his cold gloved hands and brushed dry cracked lips across hers. There was no lust in the chaste kiss, just tenderness and something Sam had only dreamed about. He cared more than he should._

_"Sir? Sam didn't pull back. "I . . ."_

_"So ya going to bring insubordination charges against a dying man's regret?" He tilted his head and gazed into her eyes._

_"No, I . . .I feel the same, sir." Sam shyly touched his face._

_"Really?"_

_"Yes. I wish things were different. Wish we weren't here and that you weren't my CO."_

_"Sweet." He shut his eyes and nuzzled his bristled jaw against her cold soft cheek. "Me too, Sam, me too. . . I've got non-regulation feelings for you." He coughed and groaned. _

_"So um, that's not your sidearm?" She giggled._

_"Nope," he said and his left dimple tucked deep along his smile. Sam laughed harder into his shoulder._

"_Hey, what'd I say 'bout giggling?" Jack's arm tightened around her as he coughed and then nodded off._

"_Sorry, sir." She gently held onto this amazing complex man, and knew what her heart had been telling her for months. She was in love with her commanding officer. Yes, she'd first lied about having no regrets. And yes, she'd have carried that regret to her grave if he'd not spoken first. _

_If they survived this mission, they'd have to deal with those confessions. But for now that was the least of their troubles. Sam had to fix the DHD. She had to get them off this forsaken ice planet before the colonel died. For the longest time, she lie on their ice bed and pleaded with God to rescue them from this frozen nightmare. _

_Six hours later, He did. _

They'd back to Ne'tu and back since then, and now there was this crappy, no-win Euronda mission. What further annoyed her was the lousy timing of Janet's CAT scan and the failed mission she needed to discuss with her commander. She'd had it all worked out in her head earlier. Now she was too exhausted to think, let alone confront him. Still, from the moment she put her head on the pillow she kept thinking about Jack and those final moments with Alar. She couldn't stop thinking about the choice Jack had made when he'd stepped through the gate. She couldn't forget the cold indifference in his amber brown eyes when Alar hit the Iris. To see Jack's frigid detachment scared the hell out of her. That's when Major Sam Carter confronted her greatest fear, and looked that fear straight in the eyes of the man she loved. God help her, she couldn't do this anymore.

Almost midnight:

Sam refused to acknowledge the persistent door bell ringing and familiar knuckle knocks. But in the end, she crawled out of her warm bed, flung open the door and stared at the handsome silver fox occupying her porch with the autumn-night stars crowning his broad shoulders.

"Sir?" She yawned then unconsciously crossed her arms beneath her breasts. The chilled air gave her goose flesh and she shivered, curling her bare toes in defense.

Jack's jaw slackened. He cleared his throat and redirected his attention above her head.

Sam glanced back wondering what he was looking at. "Sir?" she reiterated.

"I come bearing gifts. Chef Chu's," his strong voice cracked and she looked up to find his left dimple deepening with a contrite smile. Jack O'Neill in cuffed rolled blue jeans and a white pullover that poked out from under his zipped black leather jacket, extended three tattered paper bags, two of which looked and smelled Chinese.

"I ate," she said snippier than intended as the luscious aroma of Honey Garlic Chicken—her favorite, made her stomach growl. He was so cruel.

"I didn't." He pushed gently passed her and headed for the kitchen. Sam inhaled Old Navy cologne. An impulse to jump her CO sent delightful sensations through her womanhood. Sam gulped and muttered to herself. "Get a grip, woman!"

"Oh, and Carter," he threw over his shoulder.

"Sir?"

"Nice bullet points."

"Huh?" Sam gaped at his vanishing backside, then shut the front door against the cold and shoved the deadbolt in place. _Bullet points?_ She looked down at her transparent mid-waist tank top and black hip-hugger sweatpants that had more holes than Swiss cheese—one such hole revealing more right butt-cheek than she preferred. Ah crap! She stepped into her den, snatched up a blue afghan and tossed it over her shoulders making sure certain points of interest, were concealed. She really needed to buy decent pajamas.

Glancing in the hallway mirror at her disheveled appearance, pale, makeup-less face, that included dark circles under her eyes, Sam decided the man would have to deal. Not like he'd not seen her in worse shape. And what right had he showing up in the middle of a work week looking good enough to eat? Had the man any scruples? Apparently not.

Following her growling stomach, Sam padded barefoot into the open kitchen and dining area to find Jack had divested his jacket and was unloading the small containers of food on her work center. Her gaze drifted to another package that read, 'Nelson's Groceries.' He proceeded to haul out orange juice, milk, eggs, wheat bread, and turkey sausages.

"Sir?"

"Carter?" he said in his mocking voice without looking up.

"I buy my own groceries," she said, trying not to smile at the implication those items meant.

"Know that," he said retrieving the china plates from her kitchen pantry and set them beside the chopsticks he'd hauled out of the restaurant's paper bag. The man knew the location of almost everything in her house. Time to mess with his head. She'd do some rearranging this weekend. That thought made her smile.

"Taking a lot for granted are we?" She opened the refrigerator to find her cupboards as bare as his. Down right pathetic. At least she had chilled wine. She extracted the bottle.

"Never," he turned and faced her, "I bought this stuff for my frig and don't want it to spoil." He handed the items over.

"Oh." She felt heat snake up the back of her neck. Just when she thought she'd broken O'Neill's black and white combination . . .

"Or, we could do breakfast here, together," he offered cunningly as he pulled out a colorful, squashed bouquet of autumn flowers. Jack offered them to her. His tanned cheeks brightened. "Um, sorry, that's all they had left." Their fingers brushed. He let go and dragged a nervous hand through his graying bed-head hair. Despite his cocky entrance, he now looked out of his element. Odd, because being alone like this had become as comfortable as working together. Sam knew the sudden change had to do with Alar. She'd felt the distance between them the moment it'd happened. They must talk. No doubt the reason he'd decided to come despite the late hour.

"Thank you, sir." She stayed formal. Their joint military address had become their safety net. And unless, Jack insisted otherwise, they rarely address each other informally. Sam smiled and held his boyish expression. "I love them." She inhaled the light fragrances then, found a vase and arranged the flowers, centering them on the table. "So's that Honey Garlic Chicken I smell?"

"Yep. And Hot,Tangy Beef with side orders of Fried Rice and two Won Ton soups, my lady." He winked and pulled out a chair for her.

"Um." Sam glanced at her shabby appearance and realized she couldn't eat and keep the afghan in place too. "Hold that thought," she backed away shyly, "while I um, slip on something more appropriate, sir."

"Yeah sure yabetcha." He placed the napkins while she hurried down the hallway. "You go undress, slip on something less revealing, less provocative, and less distracting to this dirty old Colonel. You do that." He flourished his hand in her direction.

Sam giggled.

"Hey, how about that little gray tank top number?" he called out.

Sam giggled louder.

Jack grinned, but as soon as her bedroom door closed, his smile deflated. This was going to be one long night. He glanced at their favorite foods. He had no appetite. Between the mission from Netu and Fraiser's test results—which included needles, Jack felt genuinely older than dirt. He'd practically begged Janet to keep her report between them. Not that Hammond would be kept in the dark. No such reprieve. Besides, right now wasn't the problem. Banking on no more serious knee injuries he had several good years before he'd have to hang up his field officer's cap. But come hell or high water, Carter wouldn't find out. No, he'd have to make the most of it, train her harder and faster to step into his combat boots. Why, this last year, she'd shined like the North Star. Yeah, she'd be ready to command her own team sooner than even she thought.

But before that happened they had serious shit to discuss. Mister Alar for starters. Even if she didn't approve of his decision Jack needed, desired, and wanted Samantha Carter's love and respect. Especially, when he royally mucked up. He opened the wine bottle and poured two glasses. For a fleeting moment, he imagined this was their home and they were more than wannabe lovers, they were husband and wife, enjoying a romantic midnight meal.

"Colonel?" Sam's soft voice snapped him back to reality.

He blinked and looked up as she approached wearing those snug blue jeans and red v-neck sweater she'd had on this afternoon. No bullet points, but enough cleavage to make him a happy camper.

"So, no tummy revealing tank top number, huh?" he asked with a deflated look.

"Gray's not my best color." She sassed, sashaying passed him to her chair.

"Carter, you look good in any color." He aimed for glib and let her sit before he eased her chair toward the table. He leisurely enjoyed the scenic view of her freckle-laced cleavage, which made him remember the location of her scar—much lower, not to mention her mole. Smiling appreciation, he focused on his other favorite spot, behind her left ear and dipped his thirsting lips for an appetizer.

"Sir!" Her 'Gotcha,' tone made him retreat.

"Um, sorry, distracted." He delivered a devilish dimpled grin as he sat down across from her.

"You're so not sorry," She lifted her wine glass and sipped.

"Nope. Can't say that I am." He winked and followed her lead with the wine. The next few minutes they dug into the containers and ate in silence, exchanging anxious glances before Sam set down her chopsticks.

"We agreed to talk about the mission, sir."

"Yes, we did, Major." Jack felt the fried rice hit his gut like an explosive asteroid and looked across at her solemn blue gaze. Here it comes, Jack.

"Why?" She tipped her head and delivered that turtledove chin-bob thingy that always disarmed him.

Jack sat back in his chair. His chopsticks clattered against his plate. "I had no choice." He rolled his aching shoulders and focused on the fireplace mantel in her living room, then reluctantly back at her.

Sam lifted her wine glass and gazed at the swirling red liquid, her voice a hollow whisper, "I disagree, sir. We always have a choice."

"And you disapprove of the choice I made regarding Alar," he stated hard and factually, waiting for her inevitable accusing reply.

Not answering, Sam's eyes shifted from her wine glass to his unblinking controlled stare. The candle light captured and glistened against her unshed tears. "I see what this and other 'playing God' decisions have cost you, sir." Her voice quivered and she shoved back in her chair, clasping her hands in her lap. Crap, she was trembling! This was his fault. Still, the CO half of him remained controlled, unyielding.

"And what has it cost me, Major?" he leaned forward, needing desperately to know and yet fearing her response.

Sam shot out of her chair and threw down her white napkin as if it were a gauntlet of surrender. "Us, Jack! It's cost you--me, us!"

TBC

(I want to thank everyone who continues to use their precious time to respond to my stories, especially those who comment on every chapter. Your encouragement is a healing balm. It will take awhile before I can write the next chapter. Please know I am a perfectionist and always give my all whether for a publisher or you fantastic SG-1 fans. After ten plus years of supporting SG-1 the show, I join you all in supporting the fan-fiction writers and readers who keep Sam and Jack alive and most of together!—Jack hugs, HailDorothy)


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Another Bump in the Road  
Chapter Five: Kissing the _Woman's_ Feet, Toes, Toenails, Yada, Yada.  
Season 4  
Spoiler: Episode: 402

Dear readers, grateful thanks for all your reviews. I covet each and every one of them. I'm winding this story up to a finish. However, there may be more after the first of the year. I always wanted to write Season 4 outside of the, 'Chosen Heart series,' according to canon. So who knows what might happen, especially if I'm nagged enough. That said, on with the show!

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Ah, heck, she'd called him Jack! Moving faster than a speeding locomotive . . . crap, now he thought he like Superman, Jack limped after the woman he loved.

Fortunately, she'd fled out the kitchen door into her security fenced backyard that was dark as the ace of spades, save for the overcast moon's light. Where'd those stars go?

While Jack's eyes adjusted he heard the dull thuds and knew where to find her. Yep, kicking that poor old tree. Thank heavens it was a hardy Maple. Jack knew better than to interfere with a Carter tantrum—that she labeled stress release. Elevators and locker doors didn't stand a chance. So, he stood back and let her kick and hammer the tree, hoping she didn't scrape her knuckles. Hey, better that tree than his straw jaw, he mused. Still, he didn't make light of Carter's black mood.

Nope, this was serious.

Not only did his stomach ache but he was scared shitless of losing her, them. Whatever it took he'd do it, and that included retirement. Four years of loving this woman and not being able to do so much as kiss her had taken its toll. What he'd feared most was how the incident with Alar had revealed more of Jack's darker side and, that like Jonas Hanson he had mayhap crossed the lunatic fringe. And what if he had? Then, he didn't deserve to be with any woman, let alone Samantha Carter.

Yet what woman besides Sam would put up with him? Heck, even when he didn't understand himself, she seemed to see through the murky mess of Jack O'Neill and redeem the last shred of innocence he possessed. No, he couldn't—wouldn't go down without a fight. He needed her and even if the regs kept them from ever being lovers, he'd deal. Hell, he'd settle for whatever scraps she tossed him. Six years ago, he let guilt and pride ruin his marriage to Sara. Jack wasn't about to make the same mistake with Carter. If he had to make a fool out of himself, it wasn't beneath him. This was one of those rare epiphanies when he realized he'd never been in so deep over his head or heart for a woman. He was pathetically and ecstatically in love with Samantha Carter.

When the autumn wind rustled fallen leaves Jack hugged himself. Sam's angry grunts hadn't lessened. With a deep breath he glanced at his watch. Two minutes and like the energizer bunny she was going strong. The moonlight revealed tears on her face. Yep, time to intervene. The tree would thank him—he hoped. Right now they weren't wannabe lovers. No, they were officers of the United States Air Force so he donned his military mode to stay focused.

"Major," he ordered softly as she dropped her forehead against the tree trunk. "Look at me."

"No." She dragged her sweater's sleeve across her face. "Please leave, sir."

"Nope." He touched her right shoulder and felt her flinch. "As your CO and friend I need to know why you're pissed at me."

"Uh?" She glanced at him. "I'm not angry with you, sir."

"Ah, doh!" He dragged a hand over his blue shadowed jaw. "Coulda fooled me."

"How . . . do you do what you do and keep sane, sir?"

"You think I'm sane?" he asked surprised.

"Yeah, that's what scares me." She faced him and leaned against the tree.

"Enough to end us?" He had to know.

"You didn't answer," she insisted.

Jack gently brushed her tears with his thumb pads. His touch lingered. When she looked trustingly into his gaze he regrettably let his hands drop to his sides. "It's what I—we do, Carter. As CO I have no choice. If I analyze every decision I'd go wacko, bonkers, three fries—."

"Short of a happy meal, I know, sir." She half smiled.

"Yeah." He sniffed. "Look, Carter, I understand and accept that you don't agree or approve of what I did to Alar."

"You killed a defenseless man." She tilted her head and looked straight on.

"Yes, I did." He felt the weight of his judgment, his shoulders slumped. "It's not the first time nor will it be the last."

"So why do it?"

"Because the moment Alar's demented gaze locked with mine I saw Adolph Hitler. I saw Martin Luther King being shot. I saw a cross burning on the front lawn of a friend. And then I saw Alar being tried for crimes against humanity and spending the rest of his life behind bars."

"See, that's where we differ, Colonel." She hugged herself. "I don't think it's my job to decide what the courts would have done with him. Maybe if he'd lived among us, he'd have change."

"A leopard can't change its spots, Carter. He'd been brainwashed by his father and honestly believed his race was superior and—"

"Don't!" she held up a shaking hand.

"I'm just saying."

And I'm saying I don't think I can—."

"Live with killing someone like Alar?"

She bobbed her blond head.

"That's a bizarre statement considering you've killed your share of Jaffa and other bad-ass aliens."

"No, as a soldier I can live with acts of self-defense and the necessary bloodshed of battle. I can't live with deciding if an unarmed person who had different ethnic beliefs should live or die. Guess I'm not made of the same metal as you, sir."

"Ah." Jack glanced into the tree branches. "So the rusty old metal matter, huh?"

"Please, this is hard for me to say, sir, especially to you."

"Sorry. I know." He grimaced and looked at her. "Yet after four years serving with me you now question my command."

"I'm not questioning your command ability, Colonel. There have been many times we've butted heads on an order or judgment call you've made."

"True, those are the memorable times I wonder if it says colonel on my uniform." He smiled briefly.

"Me too." She teased before turning serious. "Look, I may not agree with every decision you make, but I respect you and there's no one I'd rather have leading me or watching my six, sir."

"Thanks." He smiled. "So what's the problem, Carter?" He waggled his hands at her.

"If I'm that unsure about an Alar situation, what's to say how I'll handle other serious matters. I'm afraid I'll freeze up, make the wrong call."

"There are no absolutes, Carter, especially in our line of work."

"For me there is."

He nodded. "So what? Ya going to toss in the towel, quit, take a hike, walk the plank, leave the job you love, stop saving the world, burrow in your lab and take up knitting?" Winded, he exhaled.

"If I must."

"Smack me, Rosy!" He folded to his haunches and kissed the ground.

"Sir?" She quickly dropped to his level and gripped his shoulders.

"Hey." He looked up and grinned. "That means we can take up housekeeping. Ya know wedding bells, the white picket fence, two point three kids, and a dog. Always wanted a dog."

"Colonel!" Exasperated, she shoved away muttering an obscenity.

"What?" He whined. "Since when don't you like dogs?"

"I'm serious, sir." She scowled.

"Me too." He winked. "Especially the dog part."

Sam shook her short blond hair. "Now you're mocking me." The shadow of a smile tugged her lips.

"I'd never mock you, Carter, at least not intentionally." He reached out and caressed her cheek. "But I'll act like a fool if it makes you smile."

"Thanks, sir." She smiled broader.

"For what?" He cocked his head.

"Reminding me that I'm more than a solider in your eyes."

"Oh, that," he shrugged. "Think nothing of it. Now up." He clutched her shoulders, urging her to stand. She obeyed, but did most of the work as his knee rebelled. His left arm draping her shoulders he turned them toward the back door, and they entered in silence.

Once inside, he locked the kitchen door and watched her blow her nose and then extinguish the candles on the table. Clearly their romantic night was dead in the water. He helped her clear off the table and glanced at his wrist watch. 0145 hours. Way past bedtime.

"I gather you don't want to talk anymore," he said over his shoulder as she loaded the dishwasher.

She shook her head. "I need to sleep on this, sir. But talking to General Hammond and Daniel helped some."

"I see." Like hell he did. His chest tightened. She'd gone over his head. Not to mention Mister Humanitarian, Daniel Jackson, got an ear full. Jack felt screwed.

"I'm sorry." She turned with soiled plates in hand. "I should have spoken to you first."

"Yes, you should have, Major," he said with a frosty nip.

"But I needed someone else's perspective."

"Ah." He stared. "So you told Hammond what?" He flourished a hand and summoned patience.

"That I wasn't dealing well with the Alar matter, that I'm not leadership material —"

"Oh, fer cryin'outloud!" Jack slammed his fist onto the counter. "I thought we settled that."

Startled, Sam jumped in place. "Not exactly." She avoided his glint.

"Fine. So what'd Hammond say?" Jack's timber softened.

"Well, first off, had your roles been reversed he'd have shot Alar on the spot."

"And that bothered you?"

"No, I suspected as much. You and the General are of the same metal, sir."

"Well, I don't know about the same, but yes, we agree on a lot of things."

"General Hammond thinks I should see Doctor MacKenzie."

"Now there's a novel thought. Not." He rolled his eyes. "You don't need a shrink, Carter, you just need well, perspective."

"That is why I talked with General Hammond and Daniel, sir." She sounded exasperated.

"And I suppose Daniel's still is on soap box."

"Actually no." She glanced at her stocking feet. "He told the General that before Alar died, you apologized in your normal irreverent way and he accepted in his ever gracious manner. End of discussion. However, Daniel believes that I could not have done what you did. He thinks that—"

"Screw Daniel!" Jack stomped over and got in her face. "That's not his call, Major, or yours. It's mine and General Hammond's!"

"But sir. . ."

"Don't sir me!" He marched around her. Sam's wide-eyed gaze followed him. "Just where do you get off throwing a pity party because of something that I did? What right do you have to question your command abilities or decision making? If Alar's dead it's because of me, not you. Like it or not, you possess the steel to make life and death decisions. And how do I know this?" He held up a finger.

"I—" She chewed her lower lip.

"Aack! I'll tell you how. Because the very thought scares the every loving crap out of you, doesn't it?"

"Yes." Sam gulped.

"Exactly. Carter, every time I make that call it scares the shit out of me, haunts me to the core. But I do it because there's a lot more at stake than you, me or SG-1. Sometimes, I feel as if the fate of the entire galaxy rests on my shoulders."

"Me too, sir."

"See. And that's how I know that you can do anything, including the unpleasant act of taking someone's life outside the normal combat situation. On the other hand, if you hadn't reacted like you did today, I'd be seeing MacKenzie myself."

"But . . ."

"You have to stop second guessing yourself. Besides, you and Daniel possess a lot more humanity than I ever will."

Sam's lips moved, but he held up a hand and she zipped it for the moment.

"Even when I don't like it, you guys add the balance I need to weigh what's best for our team and others. I don't deny I'm black and white. I could even excuse it for my Black Ops training, but I've always been this way. Take this mission. I was on my high horse to gain as much technology for Earth as possible and for awhile there, I didn't care what it cost." He strolled into the living room and dropped onto a sofa, extended his long legs and clasped his hands in his lap. "I was an ass, Carter."

"Sir, I also felt that way—at first." Sam sat beside him, their thighs brushing.

"That I was an ass?" He glanced up with his stupefied look.

"With all due respect, yes to the ass part. But I also wanted to gain their technology at all cost."

"So you followed orders, did as told, right?"

"Yes. Although, I wanted to kick your cute backside a few times."

"Just a few?" He glanced over with a smirk. "So ya think my ass is cute?"

She gave a generous smile.

"Sweet."

"What?" she looked confused.

"When you smile." He grinned. "It makes everything all right."

"Oh." She blushed and wrung her hands. "But every thing's not right. The whole living with such decisions . . ."

"Oh, fercryin'outloud!" Jack turned to face her. "Look, Carter, the first day we met I knew that you were—are leadership material. I also know I can't force you to go against your gut instinct or sense of values. And as different as we are, I'd like to think we have things in common like being respecters of human life, saving the world and—" He dragged a hand through his hair and muttered, "Whoa, bit of a mouthful."

"Yes, sir." She pressed her fingers to his moving lips. "And I get it. Thanks."

"Oh." He mouthed. "Fine. Just please reconsider whatever messed up idea ya've got about not leading SG-1. . ." Did he say that?

"Huh? What?" She looked startled.

"Well, I won't always be here to lead you kids down the yellow brick road. And I can't honestly think of anyone more qualified than you to fill my size twelve boots."

Sam gaped.

"What? We have discussed this before, Carter." He insisted and clenched his antsy hands.

"No, sir, not to my knowledge." She tilted her blond head, blue eyes bright with curiosity.

"Okay, well consider it discussed." He shot to his feet, stretched and yawned. "Now, I've got to catch some zz's and you need to do the same, Major. That's an order."

"Just like that," Sam huffed, stood and crossed her arms over her breasts.

"Excuse me?" Jack feigned ignorance and retrieved his jacket from the kitchen chair.

"How you dismiss my reservations about whether or not I can live with such decisions, sir."

"Oh, that." He turned and shrugged. "I just do, because it's what we do, Carter." He made quote marks in the air. "We save the world and sometimes make unpleasant decisions that yes, we have to live with come hell or high water. You may not realize it, but you've been making those tough calls since your first trip through the Stargate."

"Another one of those choices we make and accept without conscious?"

Crossing his eyes, Jack opened his mouth and shut it. "Is this a trick question, Carter?"

"No, sir." She shook her pretty head as if weary of their exchange. "And yes, I'll seriously think about what you said and about my future with the SGC."

"Nice." He brushed a chaste kiss across her forehead. "Now, before I do something I won't regret, I'm so outa here. . ." To his surprise Sam wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. It took Jack an entire second to return her embrace, easing his right arm around her waist and drawing her into him. Yep, this was nice. He inhaled her strawberry scented hair and enjoyed the rare moment.

"Why do I get the feeling you've failed to tell me something, sir," Sam said against his chest.

"Don't know. Have I?" He pulled back and gazed into her misting eyes.

Sam slugged his right arm and sniffed. "I know there's a lot left unsaid between us, sir."

"Now you tell me?" he mocked, relieved she wasn't talking about his bad knees. "I can retire ya know."

"No. Not until we defeat the Goa'uld."

"Okay then, we'll continue to keep '_us_' locked in the closet. We continue on as we are, Major. It's your call and always will be."

"That's not fair."

"Didn't say it was, but the Antarctic mission from Ne'tu brought our feelings to the surface. You could have left it go then, let it be the crazed words of a dying man. You didn't."

"No, I didn't," she admitted. "But then you didn't want me too, did you?"

"Guilty as charged." He smiled then frowned. "Times like this, I wish I hadn't said those things. Wished I hadn't kissed you. But almost dying and being delirious with pain cracked this old flyboy."

"And I'm glad we did talk before I crawled out of that snow cave. And why must you always be negative?"

"Me negative? I'm insulted! However, I am a realist. Sure you don't want off this old merry-go-round while you're young enough to meet someone far more worthy?"

"Enough! I don't want anyone else. I haven't since the first day I saw you in the briefing room wearing your dress blues. You took my breath away."

"Same here." He prodded her chin upward with his right index finger and looked into her gray blue eyes. "Look, I want you happy, Carter, and sometime I think you've settled for the comfort zone of these old arms. Let's face it, I'm not that complex. I'm a safe bet. I'm willing to wait however long it takes, but not at the expense of your happiness. You should be married, having babies, you should—"

"Quit being the martyr, sir. I love my job. As long as you're in my life I am happy.

And someday when the '_safe bet_' in my life is free and clear of his military duties I will get married and have babies."

"Oy!" Jack scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned.

"Too much?" She snatched her lower lip with her teeth.

"No, no. . ." He gave a smile of reassurance. "Just I'm usually the one pushing the envelope between us, Carter."

"Well then," she smiled smugly. "Toss me a bone?"

"A bone you say?" He waggled his brows suggestively and glanced below his waist.

"I'm serious." She groused.

"Me too, Samantha." His grin flat lined.

"Samantha," she said hopefully and met his tender gaze. Tears welled.

Jack glanced at his watch, then dropped his jacket into the recliner and sat back on the sofa. "C'mere." He extended his arms.

Sam hesitated before she settled into his possessive hold. When Jack fingered her blond bangs, she shuddered from his touch. "So what's going to happen with us, Jack?"

"Whatcha want to happen?" He lifted his head and curled his lips upward. "I mean besides me throwing you on the floor and having my way with you."

She laughed softly and then, "I want this intergalactic war to end and for us to be more than we are allowed to be," Sam honestly answered. "I don't want to be on constant guard when we're on or off duty. Living our lives separately when we're on downtime, and you going fishing without me. Let alone, that the NID clocks our every move, taps our phones, reads our mail."

Jack cradled her face and looked at her lovingly. "And ya don't think I'm sick and tired of this horse play, or how often your first name warms my lips before I catch myself and call you, Carter or Major? How often I have to avert my gaze from you for fear someone will notice that I care a lot more than I'm supposed to? Afraid one of us will bite the bullet before I get a chance to make wild passionate love to you? Well, I do, Sam, I think about it all the fricking time. And how I fear to say, Goodnight, my someone, goodnight . . . for the last time."

"Whoa!" Sam laughed softly, "I think you've said more tonight than in all the years I've known you."

"Too much?"

"Never."

"Hey, I may not be the most _affluent_ at expressing myself but with you well, it's important that I try." He winced.

"Fluent," she corrected with an exasperated look.

"Whatever."

"This comes from the man who aced the MSNA test and stuffed his invitation to join the international organization in his underwear drawer."

"Who squealed?"

"Daniel."

"Just what was that meddling rock kisser doing in my drawers? Wait don't answer that! I'll dig it out of him myself." Jack made a rude gesture.

"Fine, but I so want to watch." Sam snorted, and then turned solemn. "Jack, what if General Hammond finds us out?"

"Oh, hell, George isn't blind, we had the _talk_ after you played host to Jolinar. Apparently, when we thought we'd lost you, I got too emotional for Fraiser's comfort and she expressed her concerns to Hammond."

Sam coughed.

"Hey," Jack patted her shoulders. "It went a lot better than the conversation I had with good old dad."

Sam coughed harder.

Jack pounded harder.

"Stop!" Sam pulled back. "You—you talked to my father?"

"More like, he talked at me." Jack cleared his throat and looked away. "Somehow, I don't think he swallowed my pleading the fifth or my adamant denial that we are more than coworkers and friends. Long story short, he and Selmak threatened to disembowel me if I ever hurt you or your career."

"He—they would." She grinned. "And when did this happen?"

"Oh, after we rescued him from Ne'tu and we're flying home to Oz. If you recall, after Selmak healed Jacob you were exhausted and fell asleep on my shoulder."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"I'd never do that with dad around."

"Well, you did and I enjoyed it as usual." He waggled his brows.

"So, why'd the innocent act of resting my head on my CO's shoulder make dad think we are involved?"

"Well, besides all the crates you could have used for a bed or that Daniel and Teal'c also have comfortable shoulders." He coughed into his hand. "Not that I've personally tried them mind you. And don't get me started on how often Marty's hit on you. He's just lucky I haven't knocked his lights out—"

"Colonel." She glowered with impatience.

"Okay, fine." Jack blew out his mouth and looked away. "Maybe, possibly, perhaps I talked in my sleep," He glanced at her and winced. "A wee little bit."

"You didn't?"

"You doubt me?"

"You never talk in your sleep, sir."

"Apparently I did that time. Musta been the dehydration."

"What'd you say?"

"Don't know. But bad enough for Jacob to roughly awaken me drag me to the bridge and chew my butt out until it bled."

"Just great. Why hasn't he said anything to me?"

"Because I asked him not too. I assured Jacob that you are above board and that I'm the one with the attachment disorder, not you."

"Oh, Jack you didn't?"

"No big deal. I suspect he knows it's a mutual attachment thingy. Hey, he still lets me call him Dad. Guess I'm growing on him." He grinned.

"He does like you, sir."

"And I like him, but I like you a lot more, Carter."

She blushed. "So need I fear what General Hammond said?"

"Let's just say that despite the military ass reaming I got the message. And yet," he smiled.

"What?"

"George is old school. If we act on our feelings the Air Force can court martial us, but regs can't control how we feel about each other. He and I talked a lot off record. He'll protect us as long as possible. Let's just say he'd prefer we weren't working together, but because of SG-1's success, he's not about to separate the team. He believes that our mutual feelings are an asset to the SGC. Far as the general's concerned, what he doesn't see or hear doesn't exist. Basically, we're to do our jobs and no hanky panky on or off base."

"So what's this considered, sir?" Sam gestured between them.

"Teammate interaction?" he ventured. "Actually, he doesn't know and you darn well know that."

"Yes, sir, I know."

She flicked her tongue across her bottom lip and Jack felt the overwhelming temptation to kiss her. This too shall pass he told himself for the millionth time. "George respects us, Carter, and that's a perk."

"His respect means a lot to me too. Which means you really should go home now, sir." She teasingly attempted to shove him off the sofa, but he didn't budge.

"Yeah, guess so." Jack yawned wide and shut his tired eyes. "Um, just give me a minute, huh?"

"Okay." Sam snuggled into his secure warm embrace. "A few more minutes . . ." she linked her arm under his and pillowed her head on his left shoulder.

"Hey, Carter, you broke a record ya know."

"Um, how?" She patted a hand over her open mouth.

"No doohickeys or techno babble the last two hours."

"Funny." She stifled another yawn.

"Yeah, funny." Jack secured the blue afghan around them and relaxed his weary head against the back of her leather sofa.

"This . . . is nice, sir." Sam mumbled then snored softly.

Just before he dozed off, Jack cranked open an eyelid and glanced at the sleeping beauty in his arms, the woman he loved beyond worlds and alternate universes. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her crown of gold and whispered, "Goodnight my, Samantha, goodnight."

The End . . . Mayhap . . .


End file.
